2So, for a long time, I've been meaning to put up this oneshot.
I did it for a creative writing assignment in my English class yet never received any feedback or anything from my teacher go figure. O.o although it did cause a few emotional triggers in a couple of my friends...so I was wondering what you guys thought of it?
I'm just curious to know - any feedback/comments etc. is greatly appreciated. (I know, it's a terrible summary but...I'm too lazy to think of a better one especially with sore eyes.)
To anyone currently reading 'WARBID: HOL?': I'm sorry for the hiatus but no fear, it is not permanent. (check profile for details) This is a...kind of reward I guess? for those of you who voted for the older version of 'WARBID' - I was INCREDIBLY elated although I did not win. To have so many votes cast for one of my stories...it doesn't matter, I still feel like a winner anyway. I'm sorry this is VERY VERY VERY late but hey, better late than never at all...? Thank you everyone, you're all truly amazing and I love you all.
This story is not recommended to anyone with a weak/unstable state of mind, so please read this at your own risk (makes this story sound so very dangerous...O.o). Thanks.
Written by: Effay.
Date: Not recorded.
Rated: M (to be on the safe side).
Summary: This was who I used to be. Don't feel guilty because it's okay - I'm free now. And I'm happier than ever. That's the thing about china dolls and jigsaw puzzles.
Extra note: Parts of this story (like all of my stories) are true, being based off of real events/people etc. in my life.
The Thing About China Dolls And Jigsaw Puzzles
There are a lot of people in this world who only see what they want to see, hear what they want to hear and believe what they want to believe. What they see is a single, fatherly high-powered business man bonding with his adorable, young son of fifteen years. What they hear are inside jokes, smiles and laughter between the two. What they believe is that everything is alright, that everything is normal. After all, it's none of their business what goes on behind closed doors.
Everyone likes to think that they are good people who do the right thing. Even in some twisted sense of logic hidden deep within the recesses of their mind, they still believe they are doing something good whether it is for their own selves or for others. But tell me, would you still do the right thing if you discovered the secret I keep so close to me that every passing day, it tears away at my blood beating organ until one day, there will be naught left but a cold, shrivelled black heart? Would you still help me when you realize how soaked I am to the bone in a sullied sin that sticks to my skin and drains the blood out of my very veins? Would you care for the little boy who cries every day and dies just that little bit every day?
If there was someone that was being abused, would you recognize the signs? More importantly, would you help them? Or would you watch and hope someone else would come along to save them, only to realize that you waited too long, because they're gone now. Erased from life with just one extra pill, one less breath, one last cut...would you feel anything like guilt or do you not care? They were never my problem to start with, so why should I care now? Is that what you think?
I like to think that inside, everyone is just like a delicate, china doll. And everyone knows that in the end, some china dolls just get broken. With just one tighter grip, one loose slip, it can all come crashing down. And then your china doll is broken into a million little porcelain pieces, shattered. If you couldn't care less, you would sweep it up and throw it uncaringly into a large black trash bag where after a few minutes, it would become forgotten amidst the cacophonic chaos that overrides your mind almost every day. Of course, if you treasure it, you will gather up all those pieces so lovingly and put it back together, fitting the shattered parts in their rightful place where they belong. But despite gluing back together a precious ornament, there are still the cracks that show so vividly. And now, your fragile china doll doesn't seem so beautiful anymore. At first on the outside everything is okay until someone drops you and you break revealing the lies that hide beneath the surface; cracked, shattered and ugly. No longer a pretty ceramic ornament with painted colors but just an obscene doll with one fracture too many.
I like to think that life is like a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes it's unfair, cruel and pain-filled but in the end, it's still a jigsaw puzzle nonetheless. From far away it looks beautiful, almost flawless and you are filled with the feeling of surprise that it was you who actually created this masterpiece but go nearer and you see the tiny cracks that separate each part from one another showing that in the end, we stand alone. When you have all the pieces you create a beautiful picture-perfect painting, but sometimes there are a few missing pieces. They leave behind gaps. And now, looking at it, your picture-perfect dream is broken, shattered and ugly. But if you try to ignore those gaps, then you can still create a pretty perfect picture. You could attempt to fill in those ugly holes with pieces that don't belong until someone comes along and breaks it again, scattering your picture-perfect illusion. After that, they're nothing more than bits of cardboard that have funny shapes and are tinted in all colours of the rainbow.
I know you've seen me before. You know, the kid who has no friends and sits alone over in the far corner with tearstains marking his face, empty eyes staring out the cold glass window past the snaking rain droplets that run down the panes into a world that has yet to prove him wrong about his life, about his beliefs, about his home. The kid who shows up to class with mysterious marks of pretty shades tattooing his skin, the kid who puts on a fake smile every day to protect his so-called hero, the kid who fabricated lies not too obvious but believable enough for those who raised questions...something that barely happened. I'm the kid who works hard to maintain a normal front on the outside all the while falling from grace into an eventual hell that will swallow me whole and take me from this suffering agony.
I am the ugly cracks in your porcelain doll. I am theugly gaps in your jigsaw puzzle. I am the mistake, just like my father never forgets to remind me about.
I don't know my father. In fact, I can't even call him a father. He's just a stranger who drinks himself into a stupor every day, beats me every day and shares the same house as me. My real father died a long time ago clutching her hand that fated morning at 2:07am in that sterile white hospital room, all those years back when she let one last breath escape her thin, almost white lips that once upon a time used to be soft, red and plump. The doctors had warned us time and time again that she would never recover from the car accident that took most of her life away earlier in the year, leaving her a shrunken vegetable in a hospital bed that seemed too large for her. My mother...I only remember seeing her as a cheerful, rosy-cheeked woman with cascading curls of thick blonde hair, so much love and yearning for a taste of life hidden deep within her warm honey amber eyes. I miss my mother. I miss my father. I miss my family. I miss being me.
"Where are you boy?!" my father's (can I even stand to look at his face and call him that anymore?) enraged roar shakes the foundation of the house as he once again stumbles through the doorway, his eyes red and bloodshot. I wasn't even in the room yet I could still smell the familiar stench of alcohol dancing through the hallways, almost spitefully seeking me out within the confines of my room. 'Oh darling, daddy's home...' It seemed to whisper mockingly in my ear as the odour invaded my nostrils, causing me to automatically curl up my body into a defensive foetal position. I then realized the mistake I made and was soon met with the consequences of my actions.
"I thought I told you to come down! Did you just disobey me?!" my father yelled loudly in his deep baritone, the noise followed by a piercing shriek of shattering glass. Oh no, oh no, oh no...
"What's that boy? Oh no, is it? Oh yes, is more like it..." his drunken slur wormed its way into the crevices of my mind, chasing away the happy images I tried so hard to build up around me like a wall, my only form of escape. I shivered as I heard him enter the room, slamming the door open with a loud bang. I huddled closer into my pathetic ball, my eyes wide as I watched the looming giant standing in the doorway of my bedroom. As he stepped into my room, I clamped my lips tightly together to try and prevent sound from escaping. It is one thing to let myself get beaten every day, let myself die a little bit every day and not tell anyone about it but it's a whole other thing entirely to let him see my pain.
After years of relentless brutal beatings, I've taught myselfthat if anything, I numb myself to reality. I numb myself to the pain and instead, I let myself fly away to my own heaven. Fly away to my own world where everything is perfect and normal and where everything will always be okay no matter what because it's my world. I feel so cold.
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I silently stared at the shadow that smudged my dark, crimson carpet. Blood carpet is what I call it. The shadow seemed to send out tendrils, creeping into every space of light and conquering it, swallowing the shafts and along with it, my emotion. I could practically see the opaquely black wisps stretching out their clawed hands towards where I lay, whispering words I am oh so familiar with. 'Daddy's here now...here to chase away those pretty dreams of yours.' They ridiculed me, creeping into my mind and poisoning it, spreading their sharp claws into every happy image, tearing those dancing pictures as I try to block out the pain. I shuddered as I felt the shadow fall over me. I could almost feel myself getting colder as the shadow engulfed my frail body in one gulp, greedy and eager for more pain.I feel so tired.
"Hello there...boy." my father hissed drunkenly at me. I didn't even have to look up to see his lip curling in disgust, hearing it already in his repugnant tone. I can taste the alcohol that surrounds him in thick waves, rolling off his body and invading my mind. The stale tang seeping over my taste buds and filling my mouth with a sour taste like expired milk or mouldy cheese.I feel hollow.
I let my eyelids slip shut, block out the world, block out the pain. I let empty oblivion swell up in my shrivelled, icy-cold heart. Like I'd just been given a tranquilizer shot, I let myself drift off into a familiar realm. The one place my father cannot destroy, a sanctuary of silent solitude that I can comfortably call my own, an escape from the world when everything isn't okay. In my world, nothing is ever wrong, everything is okay and I can pretend that I'm not broken.
"Not going to answer me now, are you?" he taunts cruelly at me. It's the same old story, same old routine. Without looking up I can already see the disgust and hatred flashing through eyes so similar to my own. I can hear him staggering towards me, the thumps of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. I can smell the more pungent various liquors that he must've downed in the Irish Pub a couple of blocks around the corner, a strong mind blowing stench that makes my eyes water and sting harshly. I can taste the anger that taints his soul, the flavour acidic and burning on my tongue. I can feel his austere touch against my tainted skin. His hands that once used to pick me up and fly me high above the crowds and into the awaiting clouds now bringing me back and dragging me down to where I belong underground.I am the mistake.
"Are you?!" he yelled, pain suddenly exploding in my lip and on the side of my head as I felt strands of my hair break loose from my scalp. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth as my teeth released my lip from captivity. I felt his disgusting breath hit my face full-frontal, my eyes opening to meet his. I could see my face mirrored in bloodshot eyes I know as well as my own. His teeth known for their trademark friendly smiles were stretched in an almost feral, insane grin like a predator that knows it's going to get its meal tonight. He roughly shook my body and I could practically feel my brain rattling around, my teeth knocking together. We were so close; I could count the coarse hairs that were spread out over his chin, the beginnings of a beard. Come morning however, it would be long gone.
"You're scared, huh?" he whispered mockingly, making me feel worse. I prefer his yelling and smacking me around. It causes less pain than soft tones and sardonic words, surprising it may be. I felt like retching onto the carpet, the smell coming off him was so over-powering.Remember, you deserve this.
I lie amidst cushions of rainbow coloured flowers and delicate blades of emerald grass, staring up at cobalt blue skies falling over my world with drifting clouds of soothing lullabies. The sun never goes down and the darkness never falls in my perfect world of heaven. I can feel the wind skipping through my tresses, the breeze tugging ever-so-gently. Lowering my eyelids as I tilt my face towards the heat of the bright star, the light painting the insides of the lids a beautiful violent red-orange, feeling my eyelashes dusting across my cheeks as I angle the corners of my lips upwards in a small smile. I've always wanted to fly. To fly away from reality and into the great blue beyond, angel wings beating powerfully behind me. I don't want to fall anymore. Lifting my arms out towards the sky, my smile grew bigger as the playful wind picked me up effortlessly. I'm flying across the sea of perfect pale blue because I am free here, I can breathe...
It's not the same story anymore, not the same dance, not the same playwright. It's different because the moves have been altered and the script has been changed. With one harsh jerk of my body, I inwardly winced as it sent me hurtling back into reality and the opposite wall, causing pain to spring up on the bruised areas of my body and reopening old wounds. Before long, I can feel the harsh words crawling over and biting me like a thousand black widows stalking and sinking their venom filled fangs into my flesh, poisoning the remnants of life in me bit by bit. I can feel the pain blossoming in old places and new as the familiar blows rain down upon me. I flung my fragile arms up and over my head, tucking myself into a small ball so as to try and defect the blows but to no avail. My teeth once again clamped down on my lower lip and after each strike at me, they seemed to sink in deeper, hurting my already wounded lip further as I felt blood fill my mouth once again. What's different about it this time? I'm not numb anymore. Too many years of pain, hurt and loneliness and once again, it all comes crumbling around me. I can no longer block out the words, can no longer pretend the pain isn't there, and can no longer retreat back into my sanctuary because this time, I want out.
Stop! No, no, no, leave me alone! This isn't right! Stop it, daddy!, I couldn't help the screams that infiltrated my brain, macabre harlequin memories of a past long dead coming back to haunt me. Within the confines of my mind, I sought to retreat back into my own private asylum away from the bitterly cold grip of reality but wherever I turned, the shadows seemed to rise up from every corner, snaking their way into my memories and bringing forth the pain I tried so long to keep in. I've kept the pain inside of me for too long, putting up a numb front to the anguish that strengthens its pull every passing day. I guess I've finally reached breaking point. My own personal heaven has rejected me if its disappearance is anything to go by. Worthless is what I am.
I squeezed my eyes shut as memories flashed past me. My mother feeding me peanut butter and jelly straight out of the jar, my father picking me up and swinging me around, my mother so lifeless and lying in the hospital bed, my father's stony face at the funeral. After that began the onslaught of words that bounced around my mind, echoing as images of me lying in the corner after a harsh beating filled my mind, each one more painful than the previous one.
"I hope you remember who you are, boy! I'm not letting you live in my house for nothing, you earn your share! So next time, don't you dare disobey me ever again you filthy, lying coward! I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in my home, especially not from such a worthless, wasted life. You're just another mistake, nothing but a pathetic, mistake. Remember that..." my father spat at me, quite literally as I felt globs of sticky liquid hit my face, the contact burning. He delivered one last harsh kick to my ribs making me spasm and finally retch blood onto the carpet. In the haze of my mind state between coughing up gushes of crimson liquid, I heard the front door slam loudly making me jump and wince inaudibly at the gunshot-like sound.
I cannot remember the last time my father called me by my real name. Not since she died which in some twisted sort of way managed to steal my father away too. Ever since she let go, he has only referred to me as 'boy' and a few other names, some of which cannot be mentioned. He has never called me by my real name, has never acknowledged the fact that I am, in fact, his blood.
Despite my sore muscles and the fact that I could barely blink without causing pain to course through some appendage, I managed to drag myself to the window, my thin fingers gripping the window ledge as I hoisted myself up with a lot of difficulty. Wiping at my lips to clear away the red staining residue I had just produced, I was just in time to blurrily see a figure slam the car door shut and squeal out of our driveway, speeding down the road. Letting my eyes slip closed, I leaned my forehead against one of the panes, feeling the coolness of the night air outside seep from the glass into my aching head where a couple of blows had been directed. I could feel the icy glass stretching out to accumulate the sticky red substance that flowed freely from my head, my almost translucent, pale-skinned palm pressing against the glass as I struggled to relieve the heated fire of crimson life, my heart beat slowing and dulling to a loud, occasional thump in my ears.
After sitting there for a full minute, my breath fogging up the glass, I looked up only to see a small, broken boy staring directly at me. The pale shafts of moonlight danced over his almost-anorexic like, short form, engulfing his body in a light that made him look almost angelic and innocent but it's what's beyond the surface that counts – his childhood innocence long stolen away. His long blonde hair was greasy, having not been washed for a couple of days already and hung down to his shoulders in wispy strands, framing his effeminately featured face. Most of which had been inherited from his mother such as the small, button nose, almost porcelain skin and high cheekbones. The only thing he didn't inherit was his round, crystal silvery grey eyes. Eyes that once upon a time used to shine with happiness, now dull, cold and dead. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul and if anyone took a closer look or just glanced his way more than once and for more than just a couple of seconds, they would be able to see the flitting pain, emotion and hurt he carries within him. The secrets and lies that he is forced to bear would be sure to spill forth like a torrent of rushing water once found out. If anyone cared enough to see past the smile so fake, to break down the barriers that guard his soul, then maybe he could be saved. Staring into that mirror, I watched the child shift, dull gray meeting dead silver and even in the moonlight, I could still see the marks so visible, more so than the colourful bruises. Reaching a hand up, his fingertips danced lightly over his cheek, brushing over pallid skin before dropping down, his eyes following. I didn't need the moonlight to prove the tracks of stains; I could feel the wetness already. Water and blood mixing to form light rivulets that would run freely down its life path. After so many years of numbing myself to the pain, I forgot the one most important thing. Like china dolls sometimes get broken, like jigsaw puzzle pieces sometimes go missing, every dam has a breaking point.
Pushing myself off the sill, I dragged my bruised body towards my closet, little whimpers escaping my lips. Slipping inside the tiny area, I backed up into the corner until I hit the wall and slowly slid down the smooth partition separating it from the bathroom. I brought my knees up tightly to my chest, placing my arms around it and hugging myself. If I don't, then who will? And then, I finally let go. I felt the tears snake their way slowly down my face until in a matter of seconds, I was bawling like a baby. Sobs were torn from my chest, each sound breaking my heart as the tears continued in their steady stream rivulets.
Still crying, I groped with the one hand around the floor, struggling to find that familiar instrument. That instrument is the only thing that I will ever come close to for a friend and the only thing that will never leave me.
When my world fell apart at 2:07 in the morning all those years back, I lost control of everything in my life. Everything that meant anything to me crashed and burned around me. I lost my childhood in that very second, I lost my family but most of all, I lost myself. The worst part was the fact that the only thing I could do was sit and watch helplessly from the sidelines. Just like my father said, I've always been nothing but the worthless, waste of space who can't do anything right. Like the stray piece of thread that when you pull on it, the material falls apart at the seams, much like my world did. I couldn't control it, I was useless. And despite the physical pain that awaits me in this house every day, despite the stinging words that ring in my ears long after my punishment, the only thing that I really hated the most because it hurt me more than anything was the fact that I couldn't control anything. I can handle the pain and I can handle the words because I know I deserve it. After all, if I didn't deserve it then my father wouldn't say it. I can't handle the fact that I can't control anything that goes on in my world. When my world fell to pieces, I picked myself up and vowed that I wouldn't let that happen to me again. I refuse to lose control so I did the only thing that made me feel I still had a semblance of a normal controlled life. I cut. At first, they were tentative, barely breaking the skin but after the pain of loneliness, hurt and my father's...violent ways, I grew braver. I cut myself over and over, watched the blood well up and spread over my skin before I would calmly wrap my arm in bandages. No one saw and even if they did, no one asked questions. Why would they?
Feeling my fingers brush over the cool metal, I felt said appendages curl around the blade and hold it up. Turning it, I watched fascinatingly as the moonlight glanced off the shiny surface, creating such a pretty effect. In that moment, I could feel everything so sharp and see everything with a crystal clear clarity. Right here, holding it up to the light, I could hear the pace of my heart quicken and feel the blood pulsating in my veins just that little bit louder. Here in the violent screams of silence, I felt the sorrowful tears escape out of my empty eyes, the result of my empty lies and my empty life. It's funny how the one thing I relied on to protect me actually led me to my demise, all those vacant lies, fake smiles and make believe pretence that I used as my walls finally deteriorated once again before my very eyes. And like the history is repeated, I could do nothing but stand by and watch with streaming dull eyes, a shrivelled heart and a broken life.
Placing the sharp blade down on my flesh, I slowly dragged it across my arm, feeling the tiny metal incisors pierce my skin and rip it as I pressed deeper, driving the sharp tool into my skin further than I have ever dared to before. I felt it run over my vein, words whispering across my flesh. Mistake, useless, coward, stupid, boy...I released a loud sob as I pressed ever deeper, feeling fire course through every vein, every blood cell coated in a burning conflagrating inferno. It set my nerves on edge as I saw icy, emotionless oblivion rush up to claim my hollow shell of a body. I saw the drops of blood seep out from the ripped flesh, beneath my razor, my life-long friend and the only thing that showed me anything close to loving care. Raptly, I watched the warm crimson liquid spill out from my wrist in unstoppable rivulets. They coated my disfigured flesh that was already stained with jagged scars made long ago, in a scarlet pain. It was inexplicable, disgusting yet oh so beautiful. Already, I could see blots of darkness appear before my vision, the slatted closet doors that allowed moonlight to spill onto my huddled form in the darkest, shadowed corner swam dangerously before me. I felt my head getting light as the torrents of a rushing red river stained my skin a contaminated ruby. Releasing the blade, it fell to the carpet without a sound. A blank void of nothingness surrounded me, falling over me like a blanket of snow, enveloping my body in an icy embrace of oblivion.
I am now complete. For too long, I would sit in this very corner in the shadow, huddled and rocking my body to sleep after cutting myself a thousand times and over. I don't want to be my father's punching bag anymore. I'm too tired of keeping in the emotion and waiting for someone to come along and save me. I'm too tired to continue on with life. I want to die.
So now, I erase my life with one last cut and I free myself from the clutches of the devil himself. Finally, I can fly. Finally, I have wings.
My name was Isaiah and I was fifteen. I dreamt of flying away to a perfect world, my solitary sanctuary. I lived in a picture perfect house with white picket fences. I was the boy who would crawl into his closet and sit huddled up in the corner where obscure shadows would come out to play with me.
I was the ugly cracks in your porcelain doll and I was the holes in your jigsaw puzzle.